


The Journey

by vehlr



Series: AU: The Journey [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, IN SPACE!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 11:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Journey is long. Varric should not even be there. But perhaps it is a good thing that he is, for such travels could never be smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Varric

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



The hibernation pods are not built for dwarves, and Varric struggles to get comfortable as the glass closes around him. It is claustrophobic, and his fists ball up, his breathing shallower than the machine likes, its warning beep just tinny enough to aggravate him. Perhaps he will have a panic attack just to spite it, he thinks.

“Excuse me.”

A soft voice over the pod intercom, and he cranes his neck to look to his neighbour, but the man at his left is already closing his eyes and the elf on his right is fiddling with his hair.

“Excuse me?”

He swallows. It is a nice voice, a little sharp but it rolls over him with warmth. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

He huffs a laugh. “In a manner of speaking. Why?”

“Do I need a reason to be concerned for a fellow survivor?” He can hear her slight smile, and it warms him.

“Pod number?” he asks.

“Four-seven-three-dash-N,” she offers.

“Nevarran. Explains the accent. Well, thank you for the concern, four-seven-three.”

“Cassandra,” she adds, voice softer. “My name is Cassandra.”

He smiles. “Varric.”

“Varric.” He likes the way it sounds on her tongue. “It will get easier, I think, after the first cycle.”

“I hope so.”

“Attention,” clips the automatic voice, “hibernation sequence initiating in ten seconds.”

“Hey, Cassandra.”

“Yes?”

“Call me in five years?”

She laughs, the last sound he hears before sleep overtakes him.

The Journey is long, too long for any one race to survive. But the technology is still weak, unable to sustain a person for such a length of time. Cycles are proposed, broken up by twenty-four hour long periods.

The lottery for the masses is chaos. A select few are given a place on merit or standing.

As the ship ascends, the world below them dies.

Varric wakes to an insistent beeping noise.

“What the - oh.”

The glass is steamed up, but he feels cold, shivering as the beeping stops and a thin metal sheet is raised to cover him. The intercom light flashes.

“Hello?”

“Varric?”

He smiles. “Cassandra. Sleep well?”

She laughs. “Like a log.” From her end, another beep starts up. “Oh, shut up.”

“Annoying, isn’t it?”

“I have poor circulation, but this machine thinks my feet have simply dropped off.”

“Tinfoil blanket?”

“Two layers. It is ridiculous. If I could just get up and move -” Another beep, louder this time. “But apparently we cannot leave our pods.”

Varric frowns. “That wasn’t part of the training.”

“Alert,” chirrups the automatic voice. “Ship is passing through a radiation cloud. Pods in all sections have been locked to prevent contamination.”

“Shit,” he mutters. “I need to get out.”

“Varric -”

“I need to get out. I need to find Hawke, I -”

“You know Hawke?” She sounds surprised.

He takes a deep breath. “She's my best friend. I take it you’ve read about her.”

“Only every word that Tethras ever wrote about her,” she says, awed, and he chuckles.

“Really?”

“Oh, _yes._ ”

“You rate his work?”

“Of course! Varric Tethras is an amazing -” She stops, and he can almost hear the cogs turning in her head. “No,” she whispers.

He laughs. “Afraid so, Cassandra.”

“Oh, Maker.” Her voice is muffled, and he laughs again, realising she must be covering her face.

“Hey, always nice to talk to a fan.”

“Do not mock me!”

“I would never,” he promises. “Besides, you might be the last fan I have, now.”

She quietens at that, and he supposes she must be thinking of the world they left behind. Five years - they would all be dead, he thinks, all his friends. Daisy and Rivaini, trying to escape the radiation on their island. Choir Boy, who turned down his ticket to stay with his flock as the end came. Broody and Aveline, fighting for the people even at the last. Good people. They deserved better.

“Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“Was this right? Was this Journey the right thing to do? Was leaving everyone else to die the right thing to do?”

He lets his head rest against the cushion, the foil blanket crinkling. “I don’t know,” he admits.

Chaos. Kirkwall had been plunged into chaos.

Fire and fighting and the dead left in the streets, the tickets for the lottery - for the briefest _hope_ of survival - were fought over like scraps. Varric hated it, would have no part of it… until Hawke had showed up at his door, tearful.

“They asked me to go,” she admitted, “but they wouldn’t let me bring anyone. I don’t want to be alone, I can’t - Varric, I can’t -”

He knew, in that moment, he would have to find a way onto the Ship. Every favour, every last bit of coin, every crumb of food - more precious than currency, these days - he had to give it his all and make sure that his friend was not alone.

He was Varric Tethras. He could make it work.

She is right, he realises as he wakes up. It is getting easier.

The fact that it had been another five years was something he still could not fully grasp, but it was beginning to feel like a longer experience than his waking hours. The condensation on the glass would not fully shift at his touch, the marks of previous years left in the tracks of water. He stretches his arms out as far as he can, groaning at the strain and the cold.

“Attention. Pods in sections four and seven have been locked to prevent contamination. Sections four and seven are deadlocked for your safety.”

The glass door lifts, and Varric takes a deep breath. The air is surprisingly clear, to say that it has been ten years since he last breathed it.

“Varric?”

“Hey! What section -”

“Four,” she says mournfully.

“Oh, really? Shit. Sorry, Cassandra.”

She sighs heavily. “Well, I have my blankets to console me,” she says, “and a book to re-read. Go, get out there. For both of us.”

He smiles, resting his head against the panel. “Is it a good one?”

“Lightswords and Shields,” she says, and he groans.

“That’s an _awful_ one, Cassandra!”

“It is my favourite,” she replies smartly. “I was always disappointed that you never wrote its sequel.”

“Well, maybe I will, when we finish the Journey. Just for you.”

“Go,” she says, but he can hear her smile. “Enjoy the chance to move.”

“Call you later.”

He finds Hawke in section two, legs still shaky but smile bright.

“Varric? Maker, _Varric!”_ She laughs as he pulls her into a rough embrace. “How did you -”

“No small amount of bribery and every favour I had.” He smiles up at her. “It’s fucking good to see you, Hawke.”

“And you, my friend. Even better to be out of those blasted machines.” She laughs. “I can’t believe you’re here. I thought - everyone’s gone -”

And she starts to cry, the loss of their friends heavy on her shoulders. Varric pulls her down and they sit with their backs to her pod, mourning.

“You’re asking me to rig it.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Like the other people you’re accepting money from, yes. There are only 130 Kirkwall tickets, and I am painfully aware I’m not enough of a big deal to be _given_ one -”

“You and me both,” grunted the seneschal.

“But my friend’s going up and I don’t want her to be on her own.”

He stopped, looking up. “Hawke,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Hawke was _given_ a - oh, of _course_ she was.” The seneschal massaged his temples. “Look, it’s not as simple as rigging a normal lottery. The viscount will be filming it, in the interest of fairness.”

“And yet you’re still taking money off Guild members and Carta thugs alike -”

“Yes, alright, I’m lying!” he snapped. “I am _lying_ to the dwarves, because it is easier than explaining to them that there are _rules_ we have to abide by, and one of those rules is -”

“Attention.”

Varric jerks awake.

“Pods in section four and five are locked to prevent contamination.”

“Ah, shit. _Again?_ ”

“All sections are open.”

He blinks, before punching in a pod number and waiting for the intercom to connect.

“Cassandra?”

“Varric.”

“Your section is open.”

“And yet my pod remains closed,” she says quietly.

“Yeah, but I can - I can come _see_ you.”

A beat of silence. “ _Oh_. Oh, but I must look _awful_ in here -”

“Cassandra!” he laughs. “I want to _see_ you. Put a face to the name, so to speak. Besides, you haven’t seen another face for fourty years, what with those radiation storms.”

She swallows audibly. “Yes, but -”

“But what?”

“I - I want to be able to talk. And sit with you. And - and I cannot.”

He considers her words for a long moment. “Okay. Okay, I’ll wait.”

“You will?”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll wait through another radiation storm.”

“Oh.” She laughs. “ _Oh_.”

“What?”

“I have never - it does not matter. Come see me.”

He massages his temples. “You _do_ want me to -”

“Yes. If you - if you are the kind of man who is willing to wait, then I would see you today.”

Ah, he thinks, smiling. A romantic.

“Okay. It’s, ah… what, the next floor up from me? I’ll be there in a flash.”

The pod eases open, and he lingers for only a brief moment to check his own reflection, raking a hand through his hair before heading to section four.

It takes him a while to find pod number 473-N, nestled inbetween 472-F - a man he swears he vaguely recognises, with tight curly hair and a hunted expression as he stares out from behind the glass - and 474-R, a Rivain woman whose smirk reminds him of his friend. But there it is, in black and white on the side of the pod - C. Pentaghast. He can barely believe it. Nevarran royalty. He had been chatting up a princess! He swallows, staring up at the glass. It is steamed up, as his had been. He taps on the glass gently.

A hand presses against the condensation, and he reaches to mirror it. He cannot feel its warmth. Slowly, it moves across the glass, and his own hand follows the path, stopping only when enough is clear for him to see her.

He swallows.

Her hair sticks up at angles, spiky from sweat, and her face bears the stress of prolonged confinement. She is scarred, she is anxious and she is...

She is _beautiful_.

Cassandra offers a nervous smile, and he responds with his own, big and bright.

“Hi.”

She waves, and though he knows she cannot hear him - nor he her - he feels a thrill at this first face-to-face communication.

Varric hated Val Royeaux, but somehow despite its obvious flaws - the food, the nonsensical Game, the people - it remained the central hub of activity in the civilised world. And it was here that Varric waited in the office of the seneschal of the Empress, hoping against hope that his bribe was good enough to secure a meeting with the man who could get him onto the Ship.

He stole a glance at the papers - blueprints for the Ship and its many sections, and lists of the fabled invitees. Section four appeared to be reserved for the lottery winners - a smaller section than the previous lists, despite fewer people in them. _Fuck that,_ he thought with a vicious glare, grabbing the pen. Scribbling out the number and replacing it with a six, he found the list for section six - well-to-do Nevarran royalty, it seemed, with a smattering of Pentaghasts and Van Markhams - and changed their section to a four before putting the pen back and adopting a relaxed pose.

It might come to nothing, of course, he thought with a smirk, but you never knew.

“Ship is passing through a radiation cloud. Pods in all sections have been locked to prevent contamination.”

He groans.

“Damnit. Another one?”

Cassandra’s voice, somewhat resigned. “What?”

“I wanted to see you again.”

She laughs. “Flatterer.”

He chuckles. “What can I say? You're very attractive, Cassandra.” He takes his time with her name, letting it roll off the tongue, and is rewarded with a soft exhale.

“Say that again.”

“You like that?”

“Varric -”

“ _Cassandra_.”

Another noise, one that makes his nerves stand to attention. “I do,” she says quietly. “I do like that.”

He hesitates for a moment. “Yeah? What - what else do you like?”

Silence on the other end, and then he hears her shift against the tinfoil blanket. “I like - I like the way you smile at me. I can hear it, in your voice.”

“Well, that’s good. You make me smile.”

“Do I? I rather thought you tolerated me.” There is a teasing tone to her voice, and he laughs.

“Oh, of course. _Barely_ tolerate.”

“Of course.”

“I like you,” he says softly. “And I hope you like me.”

“I do.”

“If I asked you for a kiss -”

“Yes,” she breathes. “Oh, _yes.”_

He smiles. “So you’d kiss me back?”

“I am not certain I could stop there,” she admits in a low voice that does something wonderful to his nerves.

“Tell me.”

“I cannot.”

“What if I guessed?”

“Varric!”

“Because I think - I _hope_ we’re on the same page, but…” He swallows, tugging at the opening of his jumpsuit. “But I’d like to know for sure.”

“I -” She lets out a shaky breath. “Varric, if I kissed you, I would want more. I would want you to touch me.”

He smiles. “Good. Because I would, you know. I’d reach down between your legs -”

She lets out a soft whimper, and his hand tightens around his length. “Varric -”

“Would you be ready for me? I like to think you would -”

“ _Yes_ -” It is an exhale, and he closes his eyes, imagining her mimicking his actions. His hand moves slowly, lazy strokes.

“You'd be so wet for me, wouldn't you? So wet, so _good_ -”

“ _Please_ \- Varric, are you -”

“Ah, come on. How could I stop myself?” he teases. “A very attractive woman's moaning through the intercom, of _course_ I'm touching myself.”

She laughs, breathy and wonderful. “Good. I want you to hear me. I want to hear you.”

He groans. “Fuck, yes.”

“Next cycle, I want to make love to you. I want to… I want to _feel_ you.”

“Sweetheart, the things I want to do to you -”

“Varric - Varric, I am -”

“Come for me, Cassandra. Come on your fingers and dream of mine.”

Through the intercom, he can only imagine her head thrown back, hand plunging between her legs as she cries out. But the noise - Maker, the _noise_ she makes is enough to bring about his own climax, halted and grunting as he spurts over his own fingers.

They pant, coming back down from that space in feverish gasps, and Varric leans forward until his head rests against the panel.

“I want you,” he murmurs. “I want you.”

She sighs, deep and mournful. “I want to _see_ you,” she replies.

Ten days of rations. Varric swallowed at the sight of it - ten days of food, good food at that. He had contacts, enough coin to make sure his cut was of better quality. And still it was doubtful that it would be enough. But it was his best chance - food was the greatest currency they had.

Opposite him, the Arl smiled thinly.

“You ask much, dwarf.”

“I know.”

“You know the rules, and yet -”

“I’m not asking to keep my line going. I’m just asking to keep my friend safe.”

He leant forward. “Your friend. Hawke, the Champion.”

“Yes.”

The Arl tugged at the bottle, examining the vintage. “You are a singularly strange man, Varric Tethras. I have been met by many who would buy their way onto the Ship, all for such desperate reasons such as love or fear.”

Varric swallowed again.

The Arl laughed, harsh and brittle, before writing down a number and sliding it over. “Here. Take this to your seneschal. I shall see you in the new world, perhaps.”

Four cycles of radiation, but finally Varric’s pod opens. Once again, section four is open, though their pods remain sealed. Cassandra does not speak.

“Can I see you?” he asks.

He rather fancies he hears her sigh, but it is faint. Perhaps she is simply too tired of being constrained. He slips out of his own confines and makes his way to her section.

Pods are missing. Varric swallows as he works his way through them, pausing at the gaps. He wonders what happened, where the pods had gone - perhaps they had simply been moved? Or perhaps they had suffered contamination… but what sort of contamination?

Thankfully, her pod is still in place, though either side of her the pods are gone. He rests his hand against the glass.

“Are you alright in there?” he wonders aloud. “You’re so _quiet_ -” 

“Varric!” Behind him, Hawke comes running, face ashen. “Varric, something’s wrong!”

“What?”

“This whole section is damaged, half the pods are malfunctioning - I had to break Cullen out, last cycle -”

“What?” He stares at her. “ _Curly’s_ here? Wait, no, go back - malfunctioning? How?”

She takes a deep breath. “This section contains the pods made before a critical error was found and fixed - but to save money and time, they kept the old pods. They break down, they get stuck in cycles, they misread life signs… and when they fail to work, or read an occupant as ‘dead’, the pods are jettisoned into space, because there’s - there’s no sense in carrying dead weight.”

He swallows, before turning to the pod. “We have to get her out.”

“Who is she?”

“Important. How did you get Curly out?”

“I commandeered one of the service robots. An old C-unit.”

“Can you do it again?”

Hawke shoots him a look, before whistling.

The mechanical unit whirrs over, a short stumpy thing with its designation printed in faded back lettering. Varric frowns.

“I understand the unit number, but L.E?”

“Laser Engineering. I found it lurking around in the engine room.” She pats it gently. “C-0-L-E. Or Cole, if you like that sort of thing. Speaking of lasers - Cole, we’re breaking this one out.”

“I wish to help,” it chimes, scanning the pod. “This unit is malfunctioning. Hibernation state still engaged.”

“Can you disengage it?” asks Varric.

“Negative.”

“Shit.”

“Safety of occupant is paramount. Gaining access.” And from within its casing, a small sharp drill appears, piercing the glass. It shatters quite comprehensively, skittering across the deck in spectacular fashion. The air that escapes is cold, bitterly cold, and Varric swears.

“Maker’s balls, is this what the hibernation cycle is?”

“Well, we freeze things to preserve them,” mutters Hawke. “Never thought it’d be applicable to humans…”

He reaches in, easing the wires from her clammy skin. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Whoa -” Hawke darts forward as Cassandra slumps, catching her and pulling her through the pod door. “Who _is_ she, Varric? Really?”

“Accurate but not entirely complete answer?” He swallows as she is carefully lain on the floor. “She’s a princess, she’s my biggest fan, she adores you… and I think I might be in love with her.”

Hawke stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“Long story.” He kneels beside Cassandra, fingers light as he checks her pulse. “Come on, Cassandra, wake up. You’re finally out, you can’t miss this.”

She stirs, brow furrowing as her eyes flutter open. “Wha -”

“Hey.” He smiles, tilting his head, and she manages to mirror the expression, hand reaching up to grab at his shoulder.

“Varric?”

“The one and only. You alright?”

“What happened?”

Hawke squats next to them, grinning. “Long story short, we saved your life. Hi. Cassandra, right?”

“Hawke, give us a minute?”

Cassandra gawks as the woman laughs, sitting up to watch her shuffle a respectable distance away. “That was -”

“Hey. Look at me.” He cups her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Why would -”

He cuts her off with a searing kiss. Her lips are cold, but she warms at the touch, fingers curling around his shoulder as she sighs into him.

He pulls away, taking a shaky breath. “Not exactly how I pictured our first kiss going,” he admits.

“Varric -”

“I think we’re in trouble,” he murmurs softly, thumb stroking her cheek.

Her fingers tighten around his jumpsuit. “Start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”


	2. cassandra

Varric’s voice is a little rougher, in person. She finds herself enthralled by it. Of course, the truth of their situation is a little difficult to bear - that a section of the Ship was _known_ to be faulty, that the people of Nevarra were being needlessly killed, that both her and Cullen had almost shared that fate… she was furious at the thought.

Varric looks devastated.

“How dare they,” she breathes.

“It was supposed to be me,” he admits in a quiet voice filled with shame. “I - I didn't _know_ , I swear, but… I was in the office with the plans, and I swapped some sections -”

“That they would give people such hope and then -”

“I didn’t know,” he repeats, quieter now as he pulls away from her. “I just wanted to - there were more pods, and I thought I was helping out Kirkwall -”

She shakes her head slightly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “It was not your fault,” she promises.

“You were cold,” he whispers, “you were so cold and I thought you were just _tired_ \- and I might never have _seen_ you again, and it’s my fault -”

“Varric. Stop this.”

“I’m sorry -”

She shoves him, hard enough to unbalance him and send him sprawling on the deck. “Stop it,” she repeats. “I am trying so _hard_ to be angry at dead men and you are - you are trying to stop me! You could not have known. How could you have _possibly_ known?” She hauls herself up to her feet, before smiling weakly as she offers him a hand. “This was not an evil of your doing. If you insist on carrying blame, so be it, but do it in silence because I see none at your door. Besides. If it were not for you, I would still be in that pod.” Her voice softens. “I am… lucky, unbelievably lucky to have met you. To have grown to care for you, and be cared for by you.”

He stares up at her, before nodding, taking her hand and getting up. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I’m lucky, too, you know.” He smiles, squeezing her hand. “Only came to make sure Hawke wasn’t alone, and look who I found. The most amazing princess in the galaxy.”

She laughs. “Not much of a princess,” she admits. “Only in name. I walked away from that a long time ago.”

“Well, I’m technically a deshyr, so we’re not that different.”

She smiles, ducking her head slightly. “Perhaps not.”

Beyond them, Hawke whistles loudly. “You two done? Cullen’s found something.”

“I can’t believe Curly’s here,” Varric mutters under his breath.

Cassandra cannot help but laugh at that. “It is a singularly small world, it seems, that brings us all together. I only wish I had known you did not know he was on board, I might have caught your surprise for myself.” At his confused look, she shrugs. “Cullen is here because of _me_.”

Cassandra Pentaghast was not the kind of woman who took the end of the world lightly. Nevarra was her home, despite its many flaws, and she had returned to help the people she had once left behind.

The lottery had sent them into a frenzy, and order needed to be kept, to save it from becoming another war zone like Kirkwall. Luckily she did not have to bear the burden alone - help had come from that beleaguered city state in the form of a man who waited for her by her family carriage.

He snapped off a short bow. “Commander Rutherford, at your service, Lady Pentaghast.”

“Please, let us not waste time with formalities. Cassandra will suffice.”

He nodded. “Cullen, if you like.”

They exchanged a look, steel and stone, and Cassandra knew that Nevarra would not fall to chaos. Smiling slightly, she beckoned him to join her in the carriage as the engine started up.

“So, Cullen. Are the reports true?”

“Kirkwall is… salvageable,” he said finally, “but not in any official capacity. The Carta and the Guild have reached an uneasy truce for the sake of peace, and they are keeping people in line for now.”

“The ingenuity of dwarves never ceases to amaze.”

“Yes,” he said with a smirk, “well, the ones I have met are too clever by far… tell me, have you heard of Varric Tethras?”

Her hand slips into Varric’s as they make their way through the section, and the smile that blooms on his face as their pace quickens is enough to warm her thoroughly, despite the chill she still felt from the hibernation cycle.

Cullen’s face at the sight of her is a picture, and he rushes over to wrap her into a tight embrace.

“Maker, Cassandra, you’re alright!”

“I told you she was,” drawls Hawke.

“Yes, well, forgive me for not _quite_ believing every word out of your mouth.”

Cassandra pulls away with a soft laugh. “It is good to see you too,” she begins, but Cullen’s attention is back on Hawke as the other woman scoffs.

“That’s not what you said when I saved your ass.”

“Yes, and you wouldn’t dream of holding that against me for the rest of our lives, would you?”

His tone is dry, but Cassandra can see the humour in both their eyes. It is rather like something out of a novel, and she cannot help the small gleeful noise that escapes her.

Beside her, Varric chuckles.

“You never mentioned they were together,” she says in a low voice.

“They weren’t. This is all new, in a strangely predictable way.”

“It is _wonderful_ ,” she breathes, and he laughs before taking a step forward, holding his hands up.

“Alright, kids, save it for later. You said you found something?”

Cullen clears his throat. “Right. Yes. We understand more about the cycles now.” He punches in a few numbers on the touchpad, and a hologram of the Ship appears in front of them. “The pods don’t work long term without a cooldown period, as we all know. To conserve energy and resources, all our food and oxygen goes directly through them, though there is a supply for the period when we’re free to roam.”

“Like now. There’s rations on the observation deck, and we’re breathing.”

“Quite, though I’ve yet to see it myself.”

Varric smiles slightly. “All that’s out there are stars, Curly. You’ve seen ‘em before.”

“I would like to see,” admits Cassandra quietly, and Varric takes her hand once more.

“During the cycles, the oxygen is stored in these tanks.” Cullen points to two large tanks below the main deck. “I thought they were fuel tanks, but it seems whatever is powering the Ship is not any kind of fuel I have encountered before.”

“Wait, so between cycles the Ship is uninhabitable?” Varric whistles, long and low. “Woe betide anyone caught out of their pods.”

“Right?” Hawke shrugs. “I was kinda tempted to live out a cycle, but I guess not.”

“You would, Hawke.”

Cassandra, however, quietens as something occurs to her.

“How am I supposed to survive the next cycle without a pod?” she says softly, and Varric’s face falls.

They were caught in a fight.

Cassandra found herself back to back with the man she was trusting to keep the people safe, lightswords up and a grimace on her face.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “We are here to help.”

“I do not think they much care.”

The man who appeared to command them stepped forward, voice clear and loud. “You are a long way from home, Your Highness.”

She cursed silently as Cullen’s stance tightened. He did not understand fluent Nevarran, did not know what the man had said. “You are out of line,” she replied in the Common Tongue. “Stand down.”

“Ah,” he said, matching her speech. “You bend to the foreigner. So it is.” And he lunged forward with the antique sword, catching her before she could defend herself. The cut was shallow but sharp - it would scar. She paid it no mind, instead steeling herself.

“Cullen.”

“Cassandra?”

“These are no people of mine. Make it quick.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Cullen points out as they head through to Hawke’s pod. “I was… thanking her.”

“I’ll bet you were,” mutters Varric with a sly grin.

Hawke laughs. “I’m overdue a reward for my constant heroics!”

“You’re a real piece of work -”

“Anyway,” continues Cullen in a louder voice, “we were both in the pod when the cycle started up, and we both emerged none the worse for it. So the pods can sustain two people, it seems.”

“Just don’t expect to wake up comfortable,” advises Hawke. “Or maybe that’s just ol’ Elbows here.”

Cullen rolls his eyes, before squeezing Cassandra’s arm. “Here. You left this in your pod, I thought… well.” In her hands he places her well-loved copy of Lightswords and Shields, and she swallows. “We will find a way to save those that remain,” he promises. “Just as we did planetside. Together.”

She smiles, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. Stay safe.”

Varric takes her hand, leading her through the section. “So you and Curly -”

“We fought together, when Nevarra was slipping into the darkness. He was worthy of a place on board the only future we had, so when they offered me -”

“You gave it up for him.” He chuckles. “Damned noble warrior types. Here, left.”

“Of course, I am here regardless, so I am not sure I can be called noble…”

“Lucky,” he reminds her, before stopping in front of an open pod, and she sizes it up with some surprise.

“Your pod is bigger than mine,” she notes.

“It’s not about size,” he says automatically. “Get in.”

She climbs in gingerly, back coming to rest against the cushioned pads. “Comfier, too.”

“Well, this was probably supposed to be your pod anyway, sweetheart.”

“Perhaps. Come on, we do not have long.”

He balances carefully in the entrance, before shuffling in closer, trying to give her space. She rolls her eyes and grabs his shoulders, yanking him in as the door slides down to close.

Varric chuckles, and she feels it in her chest, a warmth spreading through her to her core at the rich noise. “Well, _I’m_ not complaining,” he says, tilting his head up to meet her, and she cannot help but laugh with him - his face was nestled quite snugly against her breasts in a position many might envy.

“Comfortable?”

“Just about. You?”

“Surprisingly,” she admits. “You are a most… acceptable pod companion.”

He grins. “Acceptable. I’ll take it.”

They came to her with an opportunity, and Cassandra felt slightly sick at the prospect.

“Why me?” she asked, though she knew the answer well enough already. Preservation of the most noble names.

They said nothing, of course, and left her with the paperwork.

It was not fair, she thought, that she should survive this chaos on a name alone. After all, it had never brought her luck before - being a Pentaghast had lost her a wonderful mother and father, had cost her Anthony, had led to a lonely life. Now it wanted to reward her with yet more loneliness, at the cost of much better people.

She straightened up, pen in hand, and dashed out her name. Her scrawl was hardly the neatest, but as she wrote she was content that it would be legible enough.

_Cullen Rutherford._

Satisfied, she smiled thinly. Let them take the most noble, she thought.

“Attention. Ship is passing through a radiation cloud. Pods in all sections have been locked to prevent contamination.”

Cassandra groans as something moves against her - no, she realises, not something, _someone_.

Varric looks up at her with an expression she cannot quite place, but the sight of him fills her with indescribable joy.

“Morning,” he murmurs, the smile on his lips wide.

“Hi,” she whispers. “Are you alright?”

“I just woke up with you, so… yeah, pretty good.” He grins, but it does not last as he shifts. “Andraste's _ass,_ your feet are freezing!”

She laughs, shuffling them back slightly. “I did tell you I have poor circulation,” she points out.

His hand tugs at the zip of her jumpsuit. “I can warm you up,” he rumbles, and suddenly she feels very warm, fingers clumsy as she tries to help him. “It does require you to be completely naked,” he adds with a smirk, and the laugh that escapes her is soft.

Between them, they manage to free her from the confines of the suit, and as the cool air hits her, she shivers. But his hands are warm as they trail her body reverently, and that strange look is in his eyes again.

“You're beautiful,” he breathes, and she realises it is awe.

“Varric -”

His lips against her skin are hot, desperate, and she moans as she grasps at him, fingers tight around his wrist.

“More,” she gasps, guiding him down, down, to the heat between her legs.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

“I am ready. I am ready for _you_ , Varric -”

“You're so good to me,” he murmurs against her skin, and he presses two fingers into her with ease. Cassandra feels like she might burn up from inside, so desperate is her need for him.

“Please - please -”

“So good,” he whispers between thrusts, his free hand reaching up to cup her cheek. “So good, Cassandra, you're so _good_.”

“Varric - Varric, you will make me -”

“I want -”

“Yes,” she urges him, “ _yes_.”

He lets loose a string of curses as he tries vainly to free himself from his own jumpsuit, and she huffs a laugh before yanking the fabric over his shoulders and off his arms. Her fingers trail over his arms for a moment, and she thinks about paying his body proper tribute as he had done for her, but then his cock slides against her thigh and all thoughts are abandoned save for one.

“Fuck me.”

He swallows as he stares up at her.

“Cassandra -”

“ _Varric!_ ”

“I'm… I'm not sure I _can_.” He reaches up to cup her cheek. “Not in here, anyway. I’m, ah… I’m short, and -”

She laughs, somewhat deliriously. “Maker, Varric, you are a _writer_. Get creative.”

He laughs at that, before taking a moment to assess his pod. And then he moves, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her from the support as he switches their positions. Leaning over, he reaches for the many switches that her pod had apparently been lacking, and the body support angles slightly to lean back. She has to hop up to avoid her ankles being crushed against the door, and he shoots her an apologetic look.

But now she sees it - with the support leaning back, she can quite happily slide up to rest at his waist, and she pulls herself up and over him as he licks his lips and smiles.

“Hop on, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “or is this not creative enough for you?”

“You are going to be _insufferable_ about this, I can -” Her words give way to a gasp as he tugs her hips down and slides his length into her in one swift movement. Her hands splayed on his chest, she meets his gaze.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” he breathes.

“Yes,” she moans, “that is _rather_ the idea -”

It does not take long, after all his teasing touches. She comes around him, his name cried out as the sensations consume her, his hands tightening on her hips as he rocks against her, and he soon follows.

“Cassandra - ah, fuck, _Cassandra_ -”

She falls against him with a groan, arms wrapping around his neck as she catches her breath. She can see his rapid heartbeat twitching in his neck, and she presses her lips gently to it.

“Mm. You’re warm now,” he murmurs, and she chuckles.

“For now,” she agrees. “But it might not last. We might have to do this again.”

“Perish the thought,” he grins, and pulls her into a slow and tender kiss.

Leliana came to Nevarra, and Cassandra smiled for the first time in weeks.

“My friend,” she breathed, pulling her into a tight embrace, “you did not send word -”

“Cassandra,” she smiled, “oh, dear Cassandra. I never do.”

They had walked the gardens of the palace in step, and she wondered why her friend had come. But Leliana was never one to stray far from the point, and so underneath the elms her forefathers had planted, she was stopped by the lightest touch and five words.

“Justinia wants you to go.”

“I cannot. Not alone, not without you -”

“You must.” She smiled sadly. “I cannot leave her, and she cannot leave her people. But those who ascend… they need guidance. They need you.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No. No, I cannot. I will not -”

Leliana embraced her. “You can, and you will. And I am sorry, my dearest friend, I truly am.”

She cried, safe in the arms of her oldest companion, and the tears did not stop for a long time.

They talk - their lives before the end, their journeys to the Ship, their lost loved ones, their missed chances - and Cassandra falls in love with him. How could she not? He understood much, treasured his memories, gave voice to feelings she could begin to put words to… she had idolised his gift as an author long before this moment, but only now does she realise the true depth of it.

“You fascinate me,” she murmurs, and he looks strangely uncomfortable at the words. She wonders if he had ever been told anything kind.

“How did you get this?” he asks instead, thumb tracing the scar down her cheek.

“Rebellion. Much like Kirkwall, Nevarra did not fare well when the end came. Cullen bears one too, as penance for our mercy. Though,” she adds with a slight laugh, “he was quicker than I to raise his shield.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. It is only a memory. Just a more visible one than most.” She smiles, and he mirrors it. “What of your own?”

“Oh, this old thing?” He wrinkles his nose, and the scar creases with it. “Hawke crossed the Carta, and they jumped us when we were hungover. Hardly a glamorous tale, but…”

She leans forward to kiss it, laughing softly. “Defending your friend. I can think of nothing finer.”

“I'm the only dwarf,” he says suddenly, and she watches him as he reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “The only one. They didn't want any on the Ship.”

“Why?”

“How else was the human race supposed to survive?” He does not meet her eyes. “We don't - I mean, statistically, we don't exactly scream ‘survival’, our race was already petering out. But, uh… I didn't expect this. I didn’t expect to find… you.”

“Varric -”

“I didn't expect anything but to die beside my best friend, really. That's the only reason they let me on board. So if you… if you need to - you know, ensure the future of the human race or whatever, if you have to go with someone else, I won't -”

She reaches to cup his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “Shut up,” she murmurs, lips pressing firmly against his. He hesitates for a moment before his hands slide up her sides, pulling himself closer as she trails her tongue over his bottom lip. “I do not want any future that does not have you by my side,” she whispers into his mouth. “Stay with me, Varric. Please.”

He reaches up, hand threading through her hair as he tugs her back down into a desperate kiss. “Fuck,” he groans, “the way you make me feel, Cassandra -”

“I do not want another. I do not want anyone else. I want _you._ ”

He pulls back just far enough to smile up at her, a soft expression despite the messy hair and moist lips. “Me?”

“You,” she repeats, and he laughs as he claims her, lips against her neck and hand between her legs until she cannot think, cannot breathe for his presence around her, inside her.

He has her, completely, and she would not have it any other way.

Cullen held her hand, the Ship looming on the horizon before them.

“It is not right,” she said. “So many good people remain.”

“I know.”

“I will die on a different planet. I will die far away from the remains of my family.” This thought stopped her more than any. That she would not be buried next to her brother seemed… wrong.

Beside her, Cullen took a deep breath.

“Lady Cassandra.”

“Do not call me that.”

“You have more than earned the title in my eyes. Look at me.” He smiled slightly, tilting his head. “If you don’t wish to go… then we will remain, and keep the people safe. But I will not board that Ship without you, because they need someone to keep them in check. They need someone like you.”

She swallowed, and looked away.

“Damn you,” she murmured. “Must you always be right?”

“Not according to my sister,” he admitted, and finally she laughed.

The next cycle brings freedom from the pod, and Cassandra straightens her jumpsuit for the fifth time in as many minutes as Varric talks to Hawke on the intercom. Leaning against the pod, she watches the people around them chatting, smiling slightly at the life that bubbles in the air. Perhaps it was right, that she should be here.

Varric emerges, stony-faced.

“What is wrong?”

“Three more pods are gone,” he murmurs, “and they’re all still on lockdown.”

Her stomach sinks. In the sheer rush of her new relationship with Varric, she had all but forgotten the plight of her people.

“We have to stop this.”

“Hawke’s working on it, I promise. C’mon, let’s see if we can help. The observation deck can wait.”

He reaches for her hand, and despite its warmth the guilt remains.

Hawke is holed up in a maintenance shaft, a portable computer plugged into the wall.

“Varric, just the dwarf I need!”

“What’s up?”

“I have a program I’ve been working on that should be able to fix some of the broken pods. Not all of them, but a good percentage. And the rest I think we can jerry-rig to at least keep their occupants alive -”

“Truly?” Cassandra kneels by the shaft opening, staring at the woman. “You can save them all?”

Hawke manages a smile. “I think so. But I can’t get access to the mainframe. I need -”

“You need a lock picking,” grins Varric. “Move over.”

“Is there anything I can do?” asks Cassandra.

“Not yet. If this works, I’ll need you to talk to them, calm them down and explain what we’re doing to help, but I still need to find out if the program can isolate this part of the ship’s automatic -”

“Hawke, you’re babbling,” mutters Varric.

“Not yet,” she sums up, smiling. “We’ll come get you. Cullen’s on the observation deck, if you’d like to check out the view.”

Cassandra nods, straightening. “Good luck.”

“We don’t need luck,” drawls Varric, “we’re skilled.”

She smiles at that, before leaving them to their work and seeking out her friend.

Cullen stands at the window, back straight and stare fixed, and she frowns at the expression on his face.

“What troubles you?”

“I think I’m having one of those moments,” he says slowly, “where some awful realisation has just clicked into place.”

She swallows. “Should I ask?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits, before letting out a long sigh. “Alright. You’re smart, you can follow my thinking. Tell me what you make of this situation.” He turns to face her. “We’ve been travelling for, what, near enough eighty years now?”

“I think so.”

“At a speed that was reputed to be rather fast, when we were first told of the miraculous Ship that would save us from extinction.”

“Yes.”

“Yet there are no fuel tanks on the schematics.”

“You theorised the source was something else.”

“I’m revising that theory. What if there is no fuel?”

She frowns. “That is impossible.”

“No, I think it is the only possible answer.” He gestures to the window. “These stars. What do you make of them?”

She peers out the window, before smiling. “Oh, but that is the constellation of Maferath -”

“You recognise them.”

“Of course, I -” She stops, and suddenly a creeping sensation trickles down her neck. “Oh. Oh no.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. But you know where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

“But… but if the stars are the same, then we have not moved.” She stares at him. “We have gone nowhere.”

“We couldn’t go anywhere without fuel.”

“But the radiation clouds - keeping us in our pods… oh.” She swallows. “They kept us from seeing the truth. Ensured we could not see where we were.”

“We are orbiting our dying world,” he murmurs in a low voice. “We aren’t saving ourselves from extinction. We’re trapped up here, waiting to die.”

They stare out into the darkness, and Cassandra reaches for his hand.

“Maker save us all,” she whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm serious. That's the end.
> 
> For now.


	3. Cassandra

Cassandra stays on the observation deck for a long time, staring into the abyss. She wonders what state their world is in, after three quarters of a century. Did anyone still yet walk the land? She thinks of Justinia, of Leliana, of Regalyan. All dead.

Varric’s hands are warm on her shoulders.

“Hey. You okay?”

She leans against him, glad of his strength. “No,” she murmurs. “But it can wait.” Tilting her head, she smiles up at him. “Did Hawke’s program work?”

“Like a dream,” he says, smile wry. “We need your help, now. Your people await, Princess.”

She pulls a face. “I gave up that right -”

He laughs. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. Come on.” He offers his hand, and she savours its warmth as he leads her back to section four.

The survivors of Nevarra reach out to one another, hands light and trembling against skin as they assure themselves of human contact. Even without awareness of the passage of time, they had been cooped up in isolation for many days, and this freedom was hard-won.

At her approach, Hawke and Cullen turn, smiling at her, but Cassandra has eyes only for the people. She recognises some faces, but there are so few. It pains her that many of her homeland have been lost in such a way.

Swallowing, reluctantly letting go of Varric, she steps forward.

“Good citizens of Nevarra. My name is Cassandra Pentaghast.”

There is a low murmur of surprise, but she presses on.

“I speak to you now only as a familiar voice. I claim no leadership. But you deserve explanations, and through the course of this journey I have discovered answers.”

“Where is my husband?”

“During construction of this craft -”

“Where is my daughter? She was right here - where is the pod?”

Her fists clench as the voices rise, the questions and panic making themselves heard. “ _Please_ , I must explain what we know -”

“What have you done with the pods?”

“OI!” Cullen is clear, stern, loud. The silence is immediate. “Listen. Please,” he adds, voice softening.

All eyes turn to her. She swallows again.

“This is what we know.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Stop asking me.” The woman shoved the goggles up over her eyebrows, frowning. “If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

“I know, I just -”

“It’s a risk. I know. But we have to try.” She regarded the makeshift pod with a glare. “The humans are too slow, too stupid to save themselves properly. If anyone’s going to survive this, we have to help.”

“Even if they don’t want our help?”

“Especially then,” said Bianca, smiling grimly.

“As soon as Hawke discovered the damage, she made strides to solve the problem as best she could.” Cassandra’s shoulders slump. “We have lost many, I know. Nothing will change that, nothing will bring them back, and nothing will tarnish their memories. But we have a duty to them to survive, to keep going. We have a duty to live on, and we must do so.”

“Hear hear,” murmurs Varric, and she is glad of his presence at her back. It is strange to think that he was not always there.

“Your Majesty?” She starts at the title, blinking as she focuses on the voice – a young woman, the woman who had asked about her husband. She steps forward slightly, eyes red and face pale.

“What is your name?”

“Mairi, your Majesty.”

“Please, call me Cassandra. Titles hold no meaning up here.”

“Your Ma- I just wanted to know, do you know if this has happened to the other sections?”

Her heart sinks. “Not as far as I am aware.”

“Why have we been singled out? To be in such a faulty section?”

She feels Varric move, but she does not allow him a chance. “I only know we will not find answers that make our existence easier. As much as it hurts, it would not change anything.”

Mairi seems to deflate, but nods as she steps back into the protection of the small group.

Hawke moves, then. “Your pods are safe, now. You might not want to, but you'll have to keep using them - the ship isn't habitable between cycles. But my program is still running, so you won't get stuck again, I promise.”

“There will be more questions, in the years to come,” says Cassandra, feeling Cullen’s eyes on the back of her neck. “For now, all we can do is keep going, and work together to understand our new roles. But I am at your disposal, if you need me.” She steps back, satisfied that they would manage for a little while without her.

“Hey.” Varric takes her hand, and she squeezes gently.

“Did I do well?”

“Yeah, you did great.” He smiles up at her. “Come on, let’s go find somewhere quiet, and you can tell me what’s really up.”

She leans against him. “Next cycle,” she murmurs. “Ask me next cycle.”

He leads her back through the ship, down to the mess hall on the next level. The food rations were standard, but he swipes a couple before they find a quiet table in the corner. Ripping one open, he passes it to her.

“You should have told them it was me.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “You did not know. You could not have known. If you wish to tell them, tell them every part of that story and let them judge you, but I will not throw you to the wolves over nothing.”

Varric swallows, and she can see the doubt in his eyes. Reaching for his hand once more, she leans in.

“Keep sulking, and you will be seeing out the next cycle on your own,” she teases. That, at least, has him chuckle weakly, nodding before opening his own ration pack.

Next cycle, she thinks. She would share Cullen’s theories next cycle.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Did you hear?”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“They announced the lottery winners.”

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Varric won.”

**Clunk.**

“Sorry.”

“He's a _dwarf_.”

“He's very good at pretending not to be.”

Bianca brushed the sweat from her brow. “I guess so.”

“I thought you should know.”

“Mm. Going to have to account for him, I think. One for him and whoever it is he's chasing.”

“You think he's in love with a human?”

“I think he's moving on, and if he's still Varric Tethras then he'll find someone to love, up there. Come on, help me resize this.”

Cassandra wakes to Varric’s lips against her neck.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he murmurs against her skin in that rumbling growl that wakes up every nerve in her body.

“Mm, Varric -”

“Radiation cycle. We’ll have to entertain ourselves, it seems.”

Her hands curl over his shoulders, her smile broad for a moment -

“Cassandra?”

Cullen’s voice over the comms makes Varric growl again, and she swallows.

“Yes?”

“Hawke’s program indicates the oxygen levels are fine. We’re getting that service robot to open the pod, see if we can put some weight on that theory of ours. Do you two want to come with us?”

Varric stills, looking up at her. She sighs.

“Give us a moment.” Reaching over, she mutes the comms.

“What theory? I thought -”

“It is only a theory,” she warns. “But we… we suspected the radiation cycles are false, and that appears to be correct. We also suspect that the ship is in orbit around our planet - that we have not travelled anywhere at all. Cullen wishes to prove it before we decide how to advance.”

His eyes widen. “What?”

“We think -”

“You can’t be serious. You _can’t_ be.” He pulls back, bumping against the pod door. “You - why? Why would -”

“I do not know.”

“When were you going to tell me? Does Hawke know?” He reaches for the comms.

“Varric -”

“Hawke, did you know about this?”

“Cullen filled me in about ten minutes ago.” Even through the crackles, her displeasure is obvious. “Listen, buddy -”

“Are we all just okay with this?” Varric's voice cracks, higher than before, and Cassandra reaches out to him.

“Please, you do not need to -”

“Don't - I need to get out. I need to get out of here. Send that robot over. I need to get out.”

“He's already on his way. Varric, it’s alright. Nobody’s dying -”

Varric mutes the comms once more. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Today. I was - it was just an idea, last cycle. There were bigger problems.”

“Bigger problems? I can’t think of any possible BIGGER problem!”

She can see his eyes dart to the panic button on the side panel.

“Varric, please. We need to keep a calm head -”

“Calm?” He laughs sharply as the pod door opens, the hiss a strange contrast. “Like hell.” He slams his hand against the panic button as he escapes the pod. A blue light flickers on, and the pod closes again.

“What -” Cassandra catches a brief glimpse of Varric walking away before a hatch opens and a spray is pumped into the pod. “Cullen, what does -”

And then she remembers nothing.

“Bianca?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it'll hurt? The end, I mean.”

Bianca turned on her cot, facing the other woman. “Probably not. It’ll happen too quickly. That’s what the scientists told me, anyway.”

“Okay.”

“If it does hurt, I won’t let you suffer.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been a good friend, Dagna. I didn’t expect to find someone like you at the end of the world.”

She smiles weakly. “Someone foolish, you mean. All the things I never said to my da. Can’t help but think about them.”

“You followed your passion. Nothing foolish about that.”

“I suppose.” She sighed, rolling onto her back. “Do you think the new circuits will mesh into the older interface?”

Bianca smiled slightly. “On our little project or on the pods we’re working on? You’ll make sure they do, either way.”

Dagna bit her lip. “Yeah. I will.”

“Cassandra? Cassandra!”

She stirs slowly, wincing at the bright lights. “Mmn - what -”

Cullen's hand is warm against her wrist, pulling her out of the pod. “Maker's breath,” he mutters, “you're _freezing_.”

“Terrible circulation. What happened?” She struggles to focus on him. “Why do I feel so groggy?”

“Did you press the panic button?”

“The what?”

He winces. “There’s a button, designed for people not coping with the pods when they’re on lockdown. It releases a sedative, you must have knocked it -”

“Varric.” She swallows, shaking her head to clear it. “He hit it as he left. How long was I asleep?”

“Almost a day. We don’t have much time.”

“For what? We can snoop around next cycle, Cullen, it is not -”

“No, Cassandra, you don’t understand. Varric and Hawke - I don’t know where they are. There’s only an hour left until the ship goes into the next cycle.”

She stares at him. “They cannot have gotten far, surely.”

“That’s what I thought, but… but the robot says they’re not in any of the habitation areas.”

Cassandra leans against the pod, shaking her head. “No. They cannot have vanished, they have simply… found somewhere the scanners cannot find them. That has to be it. Perhaps the control room, or a supply room, or -”

“We’re running out of time. If they’re not in a pod before the next cycle, they’ll suffocate to death.”

“Do not say that. It does not help matters.” She punches numbers into her wrist monitor. “Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of searching, and then we return to our pods and pray they have enough sense to come back to us. Take the robot with you. I am heading down the ship.”

“Down the ship?”

“The schematics showed storage rooms producing oxygen. Perhaps they wanted the quiet.”

Perhaps, she thinks as she heads towards the maintenance tubes, they had wanted to get as far away as possible. She could hardly blame them for that.

“Alright, Dagna. Hold it steady whilst I reconnect the - shit!” She dropped her tools, clutching at her hand as the sparks travelled through the framework of the pod. “Dagna!”

The woman had not cried out, but Bianca could smell the burnt flesh. Hitting the power, the room fell into darkness as she knelt by her.

“Dagna? Dagna, are you still with me?”

“H-hurts,” she whispered. “Bianca, it hurts.”

“Hold on. Hold on, alright? I can fix this, I can fix you -”

“C-can’t fix everything.”

“The hell I can’t. Just hold on.”

“B-Bianca. Let me do it. Let me b-be the first.”

“We haven’t run enough tests -”

“Branka was my h-hero. Let me.”

Bianca pressed her lips to the girl’s forehead, holding her close. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

The ship is vast, Cassandra soon realises. Rooms full of rations, full of bottled water, full of seeds and wood and fabrics - everything they would need to start rebuilding on their new world. A strange set of rooms, if they truly were orbiting their home. Why would they need all these supplies if they had not left? Perhaps there had been a plan. Perhaps there still was a plan, if only they could find it.

And here - _oh._

A greenhouse, bigger than any forest in her home country, more green than the jewelled emeralds in the royal collection. She reaches up to the nearest tree, smiling at the feel of the leaves. An oxygen factory, she realises. No better way to produce the amounts needed without requiring the weight of cylinders. And yet they still carried the weight of all the supplies.

The mysteries grew, it seemed. But where was Varric?

She looks at her wrist monitor.

_Twenty minutes? Wait -_

With a dawning horror, Cassandra realises her error. In her haste, she had not pressed the timer to start, and now… now she had no way of knowing how long she had left before the pods went into the next cycle.

“Andraste,” she whispers, “guide me now.”

Should she risk it? Running back through the lower levels, climbing back up the tunnels… it would take time. Here, at least, it would be peaceful. Quiet. And she would live - there was, after all, no way they could siphon all the air out. But it would be lonely - five years on her own, five years of her life in solitude.

She sinks to her knees, feeling the weight of it on her suddenly. Five years before she could find out if Varric was alive. Five years before she could apologise, before she could mourn.

“Oh Maker, hear my cry.” She swallows, hands clasping together. “Guide me through the blackest nights -”

She feels something move behind her, and then a hand claps over her mouth. She tries to scream, tries to wrestle free, but it is hard and cold and unrelenting, and it is the last thing she feels before the dark envelops her once more.


End file.
